


Cracked Alliances

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fractured Alliances, Humor, I am obviously taking this storyline very very seriously, Oops, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sorry Not Sorry, Traitor Among the Chiss, actually I am but I also have no worries about poking fun at it too, also this is now just the repository for my crackfic, crisis on umbara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: A collection of my, erm, less serious prompt fills over on Tumblr.





	1. Umbara Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I keep making very cracked out stories in responses to things on Tumblr. I was going to just put them with my other prompt fill collections, but they're so wildly different in tone, I figured it was best to just put them in one spot.

_[@andveryginger](https://tmblr.co/mPyJh8ReBb0rnPzgRALzbYQ) and I were joking about Lana overhearing something in the hallway thinking Theron was talking to the Outlander, but it turns out to be his jacket instead. Then [@keldae](https://tmblr.co/mWijgrOmhZLVy8pnkUeiQbQ) begged for it to be made into fic, and apparently my brain wanted to write more crack instead of finish the angsty whumpfest I accidentally left lingering a few weeks ago. _

* * *

It was Umabara Eve, and Lana Beniko couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow, everything would change, and she was starting to have doubts about the brilliant plan that she and Theron had put together to root out the true mole within the Alliance. Her traditional whisky-tea combo that she drank every night had started at a 30% whisky, 70% tea ratio, but as tomorrow’s date drew closer, the balance had tipped, and she was now putting a few drops of tea in her mug of lukewarm whisky. It was a rather disgusting combination, but a Sith had to sleep.

Apparently she wasn’t the only ones with doubts, as she rounded the corner, she heard the hushed tones from her co-conspirator, and slowed down. It did not sound like a conversation she should intrude on.

“Hey, Baby, I know this is going to be hard, but I’m going to have to leave you behind. It’s far too dangerous where I’m going to bring you along.”

Oh, Theron was finally telling the Commander about the plan? _Thank the Force._  

When they had both hatched this ruse after their mole hunt was proving fruitless, she had agreed that leaving their friend in the dark was probably the best. The Commander had a tendency to giggle like a schoolgirl when attempting to lie, which was handy for Lana beating her at Sabacc, but less so for initiating an elaborate sting operation.

However, she could tell that the weight of what Theron was planning to do to his beloved Jedi was weighing heavily on him, evidenced by the empty bottles of scotch and the dark bags under his eyes from sleepless nights. Lana was starting to wonder if he could actually pull off the fake betrayal they had carefully orchestrated. It was one thing to get Theron captured and tortured so he could maybe get information from his strange zombie ancestor, but Lana’s suggestion of “maybe we should try that with you actually knowing this time” had been taken to… extremes.

Somehow the simple act of him being caught on holo where the Order could see him betraying his true love had evolved into a spectacular show of pyrotechnics, rampant property destruction, and Lana being a heroic self-sacrificing hero while Theron monologued terribly to hidden cameras. She had seen his script and it needed… work. But he didn’t seem very open to constructive criticism and just told her she needed practice being stunned and seemed to take far too much satisfaction in tazing her.

This was the last time she let him plan an undercover operation.

“I just want you to know that I love you, no matter what you see or hear, remember that. I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

Well, now that was out in the open, they could all have a discussion about this like reasonable adults. Lana left her accidental eavesdropping perch and rounded the corner—

—to see Theron facing a coat rack, lovingly stroking his red jacket.

“What the _blazes_ are you doing?”

“Lana!” He had the good sense to look startled, one hand absently reaching for his blaster. Paranoid spy. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you were just talking to your jacket.”

“Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Seriously?”

“What I do to calm my nerves before a dangerous mission is my own business.”

“In the middle of a hallway? Discussing our secret plans?”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t do it in my room.”

“And why not?”

“Well, the Commander might overhear and—”

“Please tell me that the next words you were going to say are ‘think I’m insane for talking to a jacket’.”

“No, she thinks it’s cute. She even got Baby his own coat rack and painted it to match.”

“You two are the strangest people I’ve ever met in the galaxy!”

“You’re just jealous.”

“I am not—and you named your jacket ‘Baby’?” Lana asked incredulously. “And gave it a gender?”

“I never pegged you for the judgmental type, Lana.”

“I am not— and you’re changing the subject!” Theron cursed quietly at being caught at his favorite tactic. “We need to tell the Commander about this plan.”

“No, we _don’t_.”

“Yes, we do. You’re pickling your liver, talking to inanimate objects, and probably most importantly, I’m pretty sure we’re going to break her if we don’t give her some hint of what’s going on.”

“Sure, and what would happen if we tell her, what do you think she’s going to do?”

“Probably say ‘no, please don’t taze Lana, she’s my favorite’.”

“You’re still getting tazed tomorrow! And I’m the favorite!”

“Damn it, Theron!”

“And we can’t tell the Commander. Because… reasons™…”

“The reason being that she’d agree with me that this plan is idiotic. If we had just gone with my _original plan_ of you shoving us into a locked closet while broadcasting it to your recruiters within the Order, I’d be able to—”

“No, it needs to look _real_. These people are crazy, Lana, if I’m to be accepted as one of them I need to appear equally as insane.”

“Well, if you send them a holo of you speaking to a garment of clothing like a lover, I’m sure they’ll take it under consideration.”

“You know, Lana, sometimes your words hurt.”

“Good, then we can both march down to the Commander’s quarters and tell her—”

“No. We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Theron whipped his coat off the rack where it had been lovingly hung and slipped it on in one overly melodramatic motion. “This is just something I have to do. One day, she’ll understand… and maybe forgive me.”

Lana massaged her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache coming on. “I should have stuck with the Empire. Sith are saner than you lot.”


	2. Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> How will Grey react to Theron's new horrific hair? Will she laugh at it or just stare at it dumbfounded?

It was the moment Theron had been dreading since his shuttle had left the surface of Umbara. The usually perfectly pinned ponytail in disarray, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of the battles she had just fought, and wide blue eyes focused on only one thing in the room: him.

And for a moment everything just stopped, as even now just the sight of her still could take his breath away and make him forget about everything. And that was a _bad_ thing because if he forgot what he was doing, if he let himself slip even the slightest, then all of his work to infiltrate the Order would be for nothing—and she’d never be safe. She had already gotten hurt, nearly _killed_ , because he hadn’t seen the trap they’d laid on Iokath. He wasn’t about to let that happen again.

He needed to go, before he blew the carefully crafted cover he and Lana had put together. And that was exactly what he had planned to do, just put one foot in front of the other and flee like a fleeing thing. So imagine his surprise when his mouth opened instead and asked the question that had been bothering him since he’d laid eyes on her: “What are you _wearing_?”

“ _Me_?” She asked incredulously.  “‘What am _I_ wearing?’ That’s seriously the first thing out of your mouth?”

“But, the cape, the ridiculous shoulder pads,” Theron was definitely not whining, “they were so cool! Now you just look like a Jedi with a fondness for the color red.”

“I am a Jedi—and you said you hated that armor!”

“That’s because the clasps on it make it trickier than a Zeltrosian bra to remove!”

“How do you know how tricky—you are not helping your case here!”

Oh, shit. He should have just run. In fact, that was a brilliant plan. He was going to do that. _Now_. “I have to go.”

“Theron, wait, we can talk about this!”

“There’s nothing to talk about I already told you that the Alliance is rotting—”

But apparently his villain speech wasn’t going to work this time around. 

“It’s normal when a man gets to a certain age, he starts to feel the need to experiment, to change things up, try to make life exciting again.”

“A certain _age_?”

“Everyone _does_ call you ‘Old Man Shan’. Well, they’re now calling you ‘Dirty Filthy Traitor Shan’ even though I keep telling them to stop. But I figured it was the first one that might have set you off.”

“Please don’t tell me you think this is some sort of midlife crisis.”

“It explains everything.”

“No, it doesn’t! I’m evil now! I’m a bad man, you should stay away. Far, far away!”

She wasn’t listening to him. “The the heavy drinking, the mood swings, the inexplicable and sudden need to destroy public property and try to ruin every personal relationship in your life, the need to try and refresh your image—”

“I recall your pep talks being more effective in the past.”

“This is happening because I only offered you one fleet of warships, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“I can give you two. Or three. Really we have like all of Iokath at this point so—”

“I don’t need a fleet, woman!”

“What about a Corellian cruiser? I hear they come in red—oh wait, you don’t like the color red anymore, do you?”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“Theron, I love you. You can tell me anything.” She was managing to keep pace with him and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “This is a safe space.”

“This is a literal war zone.” 

He yanked his arm away, because if he let it linger there too long he was going to say to hell with this stupid undercover assignment and let the galaxy take care of itself for once. Except he wasn’t capable of that at all, so scratch that. 

But he missed Odessen. And his bed. And his _real_ jacket. This one was itchy and too long and made his shoulders look way too small — like they could actually _fit_ through doorways. He’d had to overcompensate his disguise with his hair to try and look more intimidating. And it was working! He knew this from the looks the House Inrokini soldiers kept giving him.

“I was speaking metaphorically. I’m listening, Theron, I’m here for you, all you have to do is stop this nonsense and come home.”

“I…” Damn it, why did she have to be so  _nice_ all the time? Didn’t she know that love and understanding was his greatest weakness? “I _can’t_.”

“Yes, you can, everything will be okay. We’ll get the finest deprogrammers—I mean doctors—and they’ll help you see that you don’t need to join a cult to feel complete and whole—”

“I didn’t join a cult!”

She just looked at him. 

Oh, right. His cover. “I mean they’re not a cult! We’re just doing what needs to be done to bring peace to the Galaxy.”

“Of _course_ you are, but maybe you just need better friends—like all of the ones waiting back home in front of the intervention sign. Even Grandmaster Satele came.”

“I don’t need an interven—wait, my mother’s there?”

“And Jace too! And the ghost of Darth Marr for that matter, even though I don’t recall inviting him. Let me tell you, that made things awkward—I’m getting sidetracked—what I’m trying to say is we’re all really worried about you!”

That was—oddly touching. (And weird. Why was Marr’s ghost still hanging around his mom?) And more importantly, why the hell hadn’t Lana put a stop to this nonsense? She knew what was going on. Surely she could wrangle one well-meaning, overly helpful Jedi _and_ maintain his cover while he was off saving the galaxy. For that matter, why was everyone just waiting for the Alliance Commander to return from Copero with him in tow? It seemed like there was better use of everyone’s time than standing in a room with little envelopes of written confessions. 

Or maybe he was putting too much thought into this. He really needed to finish running away before anyone noticed he had no actual intention of trying to injure, maim, or murder the woman so lovingly (and quite unnecessarily) trying to reach out to him as if he’d gone off the deep end. Apparently he gave a really compelling and convincing villain speech. Score one for the SIS method acting course he’d taken.

The sounds of battle had grown distant, although blaster fire and the occasional explosion still rocked the ground. It was actually impressive they had managed to carry on a conversation as long as they had without being interrupted by the fierce dogfight between forces. Beyond these blast doors was the corridor that led to the private hangar where he’d parked his shuttle.  But he’d never be able to escape the planet and finish delving into the Order’s real plans (not to mention smoke out the real mole back on base) if he didn’t ditch his well-meaning tagalong. Maybe if he asked her _really_ nicely…

“Just go home and forget about me, Commander.”

Okay, maybe that was more of an order than a request, but he was really distracted by the thought that Darth Marr had insisted on attending his intervention. Theron _really_ needed to know how a ghost had managed to write out a confession on flimsiplast, and if Jace had attempted to start a fist fight with Satele’s new incorporeal bestie. 

“Theron, I could never forget you.”

Damn it, she was going to force him to do something traitory and nefarious again so he could get away, wasn’t she? Being able to finish this plan and get things back to normal would have been a lot easier had she been let in on the fact that there was an actual plan. It was almost like this extremely elaborate ruse wasn’t as well-thought and brilliant as he and Lana originally had envisioned. Come to think of it, why hadn’t they brought the Commander in on their plot to uncover the true traitor within their midst?

Oh right, because she giggled inappropriately every time she attempted to lie. She would have snickered the entire time he was giving his villain speech on the train instead of looking at him like a kicked puppy. That would have convinced no one. There were definite downsides to picking the most benevolent goodie two-shoes in the galaxy as the leader of their no-longer-rebel faction.

“I will always love you,” she continued on, oblivious to Theron’s internal struggle, “even if it looks like a womp rat died on your head.”

That brought him out of his melodramatic sulking. “Hey!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve bought you a whole closet full of really fashionable hats—”

“You do realize this is my exact same hair, right? I just shaved off the sides to make it look cooler—I mean more intimidating!”

“Is that why you shaved a thong on the back?”

“A… _what_?”

“You have looked into a mirror, right?”

“I don’t need a—“ She magically produced a mirror and he proceeded to crane his head awkwardly to see what she was referring to. “Those sons of bitches!”

“Language, Theron!”

“I joined a cult, I don’t have to watch my language anymore!” He cursed again and traced the V-shaped mark down the back of his head that looked far too similar to women’s lingerie to be a mere coincidence. He was going to _kill_ those guys when he got back. Okay, that was actually the point of this whole thing, but now he had _another_ reason to take these evil bastards down. “Stupid hazing rituals — I should have known that wasn’t the traditional ‘Welcome to the Order Cackle’!”

She frowned. “Wait… ‘the Order’? What Order?”

“I’ve said too much.” He quickly moved away from her mirror and the horrors it contained, feeling a new and urgent need to exact vengeance on a couple of cultists and their vibrorazers.

“ _Where_ are you going?”

“To avenge my hair! And get back my jacket!”

Oh, and save the galaxy and Alliance too. But first, those bastards were going to pay…  


* * *

_Meanwhile back on Odessen..._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or TL;DR – outwardly she’s more concerned that he’s seemingly cracked and is acting like some cheesy Bond villain than the Theron she knows and loves. Inwardly, she is aghast that he would shave off that beautiful hair, but is also confused by the feelings the new do and the Evil Jacket™ are stirring up. 


	3. Lifeday Decorations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over on Tumblr, defira85 asked:  
> Dearest Grey, enquiring minds wish to know- the Dulfy preview picture for the Lifeday items seems to suggest that we will be getting a new decoration of a Life Tree. With a toy Umbaran train running around it. All little children love toy trains, and it's just not Lifeday without a snow dusted train set, so will you and Theron be investing in this deco for any future mini Greys? It has little grav rings around it and everything, maybe it has little toy explosives in it for fond family memories

**_Eventually, on a Life Day far, far away…_ **

 

* * *

 

“Theron… did you decorate for Life Day?”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course, it’s very nice, but uh—“

“Daddy!” Little Davin breaks away from his mother’s grasp, his baby sister not far behind. “Is that a train?”

“Yeah, buddy! The sales guy said it was an exact replica of a famous one. What do you think?”

“Why is it famous? Does it have something to do with those blinking red lights all over it? What are those for?”

“Oh well those are—um… you know, I didn’t notice those at the store.” He frowns and takes a closer look. “They almost look like—uh oh.”

A sudden revelation dawns on Theron that maybe he should have invested in a giant stuffed Santa Wampa instead of the deep-discounted train set just about the time his significant other gives him a dark, unimpressed look. He shoots her a nervous smile. 

“Everybody loves trains, right?”

“No,” she says flatly. “We do not.”

“I like it!” Davin proudly declares, because of course he does. Like father like son. “Oh, look, it comes with a big red button! I’m gonna press it!”

“No, wait—“

Thankfully the fire produced is small and only singes his ugly Life Day sweater a little bit. Theron’s not sure the glare directed his way by Grey is worse, or the uncomfortable line of questioning from his very insistent four year old that eventually ensues:

“Why doesn’t Mommy like trains? Did you do something bad on a train? Was it really bad? Was it really really _really_ bad? Can we make the train explode again? That was fun!”

So very much his father’s son.


	4. Relapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s probably best to read The Fruitcake Menace to truly understand Lana’s pain here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283832
> 
> Written for the prompt: “Why are your hands purple?”

No.

No.

 _No_.

This was _not_ happening again. She _refused_ to allow it. They’d put rules, they’d put procedures in place for Sith’s sake. What good was a clearly defined and implemented system of failsafes and backup plans if everyone just ignored it because some Jedi flashed them puppy dog eyes? What was even the point of trying if everything was going to fall apart around her?

“Theron,” Lana said carefully, with far more patience than she should have been allowed at that moment in time, “did I just see the Commander in the kitchen?”

“Hmm? Nope. Don’t think so.”

“I’m pretty sure I did.”

“Nah, I think that was someone else. You know how busy things get around here. And don’t all those Jedi look the same anyway?”

“First off, we’ve been understaffed ever since we wrapped up your ridiculous undercover stunt.”

“Really not going to let that go are you?”

“You shot me!”

“With a stun blast!”

“It still hurt—you know what, we’re not having this conversation again!” Lana glared at him. “And don’t change the subject!”

“You brought it up,” he pointed out.

“And secondly, I know what you’re doing,” Lana hissed, “and I’m not going to let you get away with it this time.”

“Oh, and what am I doing?”

“You’re letting your wife _bake_ again!”

“Would I do that? Especially after you threatened me with Force lightning if I so much as let her touch an oven dial?”

“I don’t trust you,” she muttered. 

Theron shrugged at those words, apparently that diatribe had grown old over the past few months. Well, she didn’t care, if he was going to enable this madness again, she’d just stop it before it even started. She shoved past the spy harshly, ignoring his sputter of protest (as well as the kitchen staff’s loud cries of her tracking dirt into the food prep area) and found her target over at the pastry table.

“No!” She said firmly, pointing a finger. “We are not doing this again!”

“Oh, hi, Lana!” The Jedi said brightly. Somehow she had managed to smear flour across her face, nearly obscuring the freckles dotting her cheeks. It was adorable. 

No.

 _No_.

Lana would be _strong_. This was for the good of the Alliance. The _galaxy_. She would not be swayed from her task. She was a Sith Lord. Sith were not undone by _cuteness_.

“Commander,” she said firmly, “what are you doing? We discussed this. You have been barred from baking.”

“Oh, I remember. But I’m not,” came the chipper response.

“Then why are your hands purple?”

“That’s from the chee-chee berries. The juice gets everywhere.”

“It certainly makes it _look_ like you are.”

“It is a no-bake gelatin mold,” rumbled the tall, angry Cathar next to the Jedi. Lana vaguely recognized him as one of the mess hall workers. The one that was always hitting on Koth and telling wild tales.

“Yes,” chimed in the Jedi, “so, as you can see, I am not baking.”

“This is not in the spirit of our agreement.”

“Adatir offered to teach me some basic recipes.” Who? Oh, right. The impossibly tall, irritable Cathar. “Weren’t you the one who told me I needed to expand my horizons? Pick up a hobby?”

“I meant that you should write poetry or something rather than meditating or destroying all of the training droids out of boredom.”

“But I’m bad at rhyming,” she said, “besides, the ability to prepare delicious desserts could come in handy.”

“You just poured a cup of salt into your gelatin instead of sugar.”

“Oh… fiddlesticks. Not again!”

“Again?” Lana echoed.

Adatir heaved a deep sigh, and quickly took away the ruined batch of gelatin, and replaced the work area with a fresh batch of berries. Lana massaged her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Forget war, death cults, or weapons of mass destruction. The death of her would be one stubborn Jedi and her shockingly atrocious culinary skills.


	5. The Sexy Spy Virus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, the context of this one is a bit, erm, difficult to explain. A funny screenshot in-game kind of snowballed, and resulted in this, um... crack pairing(?). It involves a medical droid and... you know, I'll just leave this link here, and hope it somehow illuminates this madness: https://greyias.tumblr.com/tagged/the-medical-droid-love-triangle-saga/chrono
> 
> Prompt: Theron's slicing adventure is a resounding success. Unfortunately, all the Alliance medical droids share a common network. For the next week, echoes of 'Theron Shan is a master lover' can be heard across Odessen. He never lives it down.

“And now, the final agenda item for the senior staff meeting,” Lana said at the head of the table coolly, “what the troops have dubbed the ‘Sexy Spy Virus’.”

“Really?” Koth asked. “My crew is calling it the ‘Rusty Shan Boltaction’.”

At the opposite end of the table, Theron let out a loud groan, burying his head into his arms. To his right, Grey patted his shoulder sympathetically and murmured something softly where only he could hear.

“That’s not helping!” he snapped at her.

“Regardless,” Lana continued, either unaware, or more likely not caring about the spy’s wounded pride, “as beneficial as the ‘Sexy Spy Virus’ has been for morale—”

“Really?” Theron cried.

“It has been for the rest of us, Rusty,” Hylo snickered.

“I’ll show you rusty!”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Seconded,” Koth chimed in.

Lana massaged her forehead. “I would just like one senior staff meeting that doesn’t descend into pointless childish bickering.”

“Everyone,” Grey spoke up oh-so-helpfully, coming to Lana’s aid, “please stop talking about Theron’s Rusty Bolt and be respectful so Lana can finish getting through agenda items.”

“Gee,” Theron said sarcastically, “thanks, dear.”

She flashed him a winning smile. “You’re welcome.”

The poor aggrieved Sith let out a long-suffering sigh, before straightening up in her seat and regaining her composure. How everyone on Odessen hadn’t been charred at least once or twice by Force lightning was one of the galaxy’s great mysteries. 

“As I was saying,” she ground out, “the medical staff has asked for the programming on their droids to be reversed so they can get through one exam without having it devolve like every single one of my meetings with you lot.”

“I already uploaded the countervirus this morning.” Theron shifted in his seat uneasily. “They’ll have their boring, normal droids back once they reboot the system.”

“ _Additionally_ , they’ve asked that no further modifications to their medical equipment be made without prior authorization,” she added, pursing her lips together. “I have also received several requests from other departments that you be barred from making unauthorized programming to anything else on base. And oddly, one request for you to replicate your work on a custom R7 unit.”

“That was me!” Kaliyo grinned. “Think of how many heists I could pull off using a Shan Sexbot as a distraction. It shouting to the stars about your insecurities in the bedroom will keep everyone’s attention.”

“Ooh, can I get in on that action?” Gault asked.

“I’m not making anyone a Shan Sexbot!” Theron growled. “And I’m not insecure!”

“Um, Theron,” Grey put in cautiously, “perhaps you should stop reacting—”

“You started this!” He jabbed a finger in her direction.

“Me? You’re the one overreacting! I just kissed a medical droid on the nose because it did a good job!”

“Who _does_ that?”

“Who gets _jealous_ of a droid?”

At the head of the table, Lana threw her datapad and meeting agenda over her shoulder dramatically, and pulled out the flask she always had hidden on her person. Without any preamble she poured half of it into her steaming mug of tea before passing it to the next person at the table. They took big swig and passed it down the line. And so another staff meeting adjourned in its traditional fashion.


End file.
